


Space Wolf

by seraphina_snape



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Other, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space AU set on the military ship, the Nemeton. Derek and Stiles have to share a room, just wide enough to fit their bunk beds and barely enough room to move around. Things get tense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> The title and summary were written by a member of the community for a challenge at [beacon_hills](http://beacon-hills.livejournal.com/). This fic was also written for a challenge @ beacon_hills.

Stiles hit the panel at the side of the door and was already two steps into his room before he realized that there was someone lying on the lower bunk. He skidded to a stop and nearly brained himself on the bed's metal frame when his socked feet slipped out from under him. 

The stranger swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and sat up, hunched over. There wasn't much room between the beds. That's why Stiles had picked the top bunk even though it made his chances of injury while getting out of bed at least four times more likely. 

Stiles could only stare as the guy stood up and unfolded his huge frame. His shoulders were much broader than Stiles' and he looked like he could bench press a fully loaded cargo mule without breaking a sweat. The guy's flickered down to Stiles' feet. 

"You Stilinski?" 

Stiles felt vaguely affronted at the guy's less-than-friendly tone. So what if he had just come back from a sock race with Scott? He could sock race in the cargo bay (Boyd always turned a blind eye if they gave him part of their rations at lunch) or the observation deck corridors (it wasn't as if anyone actually went there if the Nemeton wasn't carrying diplomats or anyone above a Captain's rank). 

"I'm Derek Hale, your new bunkmate," the guy - Derek - said, apparently not fazed by Stiles' lack of response. Derek's gaze returned to Stiles' feet. "Why aren't you wearing boots?" 

"Sock race," Stiles said. "Duh." 

"What?"

"Oh my god, what backwater planet did you transfer in from? How can you not know about sock races? It's racing. On your socks. You know?" Stiles took a couple of steps back until his back was against the steel door. Using one foot to push off from the door, he leapt forward and slid along the floor on his socks. However, in his hurry, he'd failed to account for an immovable object (AKA Derek) blocking his way quite so soon. 

Rooms on the Nemeton were extremely small, with two bunks (in some rooms three) on top of each other on the left-hand side of the room and a sink framed by two lockers on the right-hand side. The space between the bunk beds and the lockers was barely wide enough for Stiles to stand in. Derek, with his broader shoulders, had to stand angled sideway in order not to bump against the bed frame or the lockers. 

"Aaah!" 

Stiles crashed into Derek with enough force to make Derek stumble back a step. Strong arms came up around him and Stiles came to a stop with one of Derek's hands on his shoulder, the other at his side, curled into the fabric of his t-shirt. They were standing chest to chest, and the sharp edge of his locker was digging into Stiles' back. Derek was as tall as him, which probably meant he was about an inch shorter since Stiles wasn't wearing his boots. 

Up close Derek's eyes had a fascinating color - somewhere between green and blue with some hazel thrown in. And his eyebrows were absolutely _epic_. They were the kind of eyebrows that could have their own TV show. In his mind, Stiles could almost hear a silly theme tune playing. He started giggling.

"How have you not killed yourself yet getting out of the top bunk?"

"Ugh, don't even ask. That bed gives me more bruises than a session in the combat flight simulator followed by a round in the gym with Greenberg. Some days I bruise my ass so hard, I can't even sit down properly." 

Derek blinked, his eyes dropping down to Stiles' mouth. Stiles reflexively licked his lips and then gave himself a mental head slap. Starting something with your bunkmate was an incredibly stupid idea. Even if said bunkmate was built like a tank and so fucking hot that Stiles would probably burn his tongue if he ever tried to lick Derek's abs.

"Uh." Derek cleared his throat. "Why don't you take the bottom bunk then?" 

"Are you kidding me?" Stiles shook his head. "I can live with a bruised ass, but I kinda need my brain intact. I'd probably give myself brain damage on the steel frame or something."

"Good point." 

Stiles gave Derek a half-hearted glare and squirmed, trying to disentangle from him. He promptly slipped again. 

Derek tightened his hold, inadvertently pulling Stiles even closer to his chest. Stiles could feel Derek's breath against the his face.

"Please tell me they don't give you a gun." 

Stiles just grinned.


End file.
